A Thousand Yellow Daisies
by wild wolf free17
Summary: Drabbles in the GG 'verse. Mostly slash, though the occasional het pops in, as well.
1. Poetry at Three in the Morning

Each one of these stands alone. Each has warnings and a rating.

* * *

**Title**: Poetry at Three in the Morning

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: pretty much total AU

**Pairings**: implied Tristan/Rory, Dean/Rory, Tristan/Dean

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 1250

**Point** **of** **view**: third

Tristan sometimes wonders how he is. How _they_ are. If they got their happy ending or faded away like smoke in the night.

He heard rumors but nothing concrete, and he honestly didn't care enough to ferret out the information. Really. He was over them a long time ago.

o0o

Sometimes he walks down the streets of LA—where he moved finally, escaping New England and all its false promises—and sees a tall guy with dark hair or a lithe brunette, and for an instant he imagines it's them.

His breath catches and his heart pounds—the ending had been so painful and he regrets it so much now. He feels shame, even after he knows it isn't them.

o0o

He was such a bastard, back in high school. Sure of his future, his power, his charisma. Sure that he could get anything he wanted.

And from the moment he laid eyes on Rory, he wanted her. Wanted to hold her, to read to her, to—own her. Own her like his father owned his mother, and yet not, because his mother wasn't happy, and never had been.

He really wanted Rory to be happy, and a part of him honestly thought he could buy her happiness.

And then, at the dance—he met Dean. Dean who wasn't afraid of him. Dean who actually fought him. Dean who stood up and dished back just as hard as Tristan gave.

Dean who said he could kill him, and would—Dean who Rory adored.

Dean who Tristan knew he could never equal, and who he hated as much as he loved.

Dean who he wanted to own, to dominate—Dean who he wanted to look at him like he looked at Rory, and who he knew never would.

o0o

He sits in his apartment a lot, alone. Women and men come and go, none staying for long.

Tristan's always had commitment issues.

He drinks scotch and coffee, eats nachos and pancakes. He sleeps in spurts, never through the night. He floats from one job to the next, and works on a novel he figures'll never get published.

This is, quite certainly, the life he never dreamed of, all those years ago.

o0o

And he can't say he's happy, because he's not. He can't say he doesn't regret, because he does. With every breath, he regrets. He regrets so hard his body should shatter, or he should drown on the inside—because men don't cry. They don't.

He never has. He never will. He never weeps on the outside, but he sobs inside, he sobs oceans.

His father would scoff, would mock, would rant. His father should have disinherited him long ago.

Tristan's never been the son he wanted.

o0o

He watches the sun rise at least twice a week for five years. Not a one is ever the same. Like snowflakes, like fingerprints—each completely unique.

No one at Chilton would have thought him a poet, and it honestly isn't bragging if he says that he is.

Maybe if he'd written a poem for Rory she'd have given him a chance.

He throws back a scotch and almost chokes as he starts laughing at the thought of writing a poem for Dean.

o0o

Maybe poetry would have been the way to go. Maybe a sonnet, Shakespearian or Spenserian—girls like that, right? Poems—why didn't he think of that, back then?

He writes a character, Beatrice Lorelai Jameson into his novel—she'll be one of the few to survive until the end. And he also puts in a guy, the villain, Samuel Gregory Dean—he'll eventually turn good, of course, like all the cool villains do. He'll win the heart of Rory—the Rory of the book—and they'll live happily ever after.

Tristan can't finish the book. He doesn't know where to go after they meet for the first time.

o0o

Mom sends birthday cards and then postcards as she travels the world. She finally worked up the guts to leave Dad, and Tristan is glad for her. She isn't as broken as he thought, and traveling brings back sparkle to her eyes. He can tell that from the pictures—in real life, he might burn in her iridescent glow.

She always reminded him of butterfly in a glass cage, pinned by poison and time. He's glad she awakened from that slumber, spread her fragile wings, and finally soared.

He chuckles, doing the dishes, imagining his mother as an insect. Not only weird, her face on that body, but not even that poetic.

o0o

Dad calls once. Demands Tristan come home. Demands an apology for all the stupid shit Tristan did, all the mistakes.

Tristan scoffs into the phone, says, "I'll apologize the day you do," and slams down the phone.

He feels vindicated. Powerful. And then gets the email from Mom that Dad just disinherited him. It was a month later that Mom finally left.

o0o

So he gives Sam—the character from his novel—a fucked-up family life. Abusive dad—not that Dad ever hit him with fists or belts, or anything physical, just words—and a broken mother.

And he gives Rory a mom who ran and a dad who did his best but failed.

And he decides this story won't get a happy ending, because he's still crying inside and nothing will ever make him stop.

o0o

And poetry is overrated, anyway. It wouldn't have worked on Rory—real Rory—because… he just knows it wouldn't have. Not from him.

Maybe Dean could have pulled it off, the stupid bastard. Dean seemed to always do the right thing—until the whatever it was that split them up.

Tristan can't imagine Rory without Dean or Dean without Rory.

He sits down and writes another chapter, visualizing that dance, and Sam finally turns good.

o0o

He's written his best poetry at night. Drunk almost to the merciful blackness, words come without hardship, flow as from a fountain, and he pens them so messily he almost can't read it the next morning.

He's written whole books of verse on those years, painful and far away, now. Bitter, full of regret, and even hope, few and far between. Whole sonnets just about Rory, about Dean—and he knows they didn't know each other. He knows he has only imaginings, images, half-formed ideas—but he's a writer. He lives in the imagination.

And he finishes the book with a flourish, and the heroine, he decides, is going to die, while the villain turned hero lives to a ripe old age and hates himself forever.

o0o

Sometimes he walks down the streets of LA—where he moved finally, escaping New England and all its' false promises—and sees a tall guy with dark hair or a lithe brunette, and for an instant he imagines it's them.

His breath catches and his heart pounds—the ending had been so painful and he regrets it so much now. He feels shame, even after he knows it isn't them.

God, he was such a moron—he really should call them up, apologize. He wonders if they'd even speak to him.

o0o

Poetry at three in the morning is the best kind, he decides, and turns another page.


	2. Doesn't Seem Like a Beginning

**Title**: Doesn't Seem Like A Beginning

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU during season 2

**Pairings**: Luke/Lorelai, Dean/Rory, Jess/Rory; implied Dean/Jess slash

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 1065

**Point** **of** **view**: second

* * *

"You know, those things'll kill you." His voice has forced lightness and you can practically **feel** how much he wanted to say something else.

You look up, fingers tightening on your cigarette and meet his eyes. You smirk and drawl, "That's what they say."

It doesn't feel like a beginning. It never does.

o0o

He dumped Rory because she'd fallen for you. Rory dumped you because once she was with you, she lost interest.

Even after, he still didn't like you. You can't really blame him. You were a bastard, loved tormenting him. You'd figured it was because you liked Rory, so of course you wouldn't like her boyfriend. And he'd made it so easy, so very easy.

He wasn't as smart as you, that was a given; Rory needed a challenge. He'd always been a good boy; you screamed _danger_ in a way that had all mothers wary. He never needed saving.

Neither did you, but Rory enjoyed pretending for awhile.

o0o

The new bad boy or the boring old boyfriend—he never had a chance. You smirked, dangling your victory in front of him. You held her hand and kissed her lips and caressed her face, her shoulder.

He watched, eyes hard, fists clenched, but he never made a move. He never spoke to you or her; he avoided you both.

You'd go out of your way to pick fights, but he ignored you. He'd look over you, walk around you, act like you weren't there.

And that galled you, really pissed you off.

Only once did you attempt to hit him. He caught your fist instantly and held you immobile. No matter how you tried, you couldn't move.

His green eyes were hard, solemn. "Leave me alone, Jess," he said softly. "Leave me alone." He released you and walked away.

So you did. You'd won, anyway. You had Rory and he didn't. You were smarter, cooler. You'd won.

o0o

A few weeks later, Rory kissed you goodbye. You told her she'd regret it, that you would **never** take her back. She smiled sadly but walked away all the same.

He had all the right in the world to torment you as you'd tormented him. No one could blame him.

But he didn't. He still ignored you, bypassed you without a glance. Pretended you didn't exist.

That bothered you more than cruelty would have, though you had no idea why.

o0o

So when he speaks to you with no malice, just an inane comment you've heard a thousand times before, you're entitled to shock.

But you respond in kind.

After, he nods when you pass in the halls. You seek him out for conversations about cars, one of the few subjects he knows better than you. He'll ask you what the writer meant in a book for English; you ask him to teach you the finer points of basketball.

Rory is never mentioned. He never asks about why it didn't work.

He made the first move and you have no idea where this will end.

o0o

Senior year finishes with you graduating at the top of the class. Dean's in the upper twenty-five percent and you're proud—prouder than you've ever been about anything before.

You could go to any college you want, but you're content to work at the diner and Wal-mart, to read every book you find, and play basketball.

Rory goes to Harvard and Dean to Connecticut State. You never talk to her, but you hang with him sometimes. Months pass swiftly and become years; Stars Hollow never changes, but the people finally accept you.

You know it's because of Luke. And Dean.

o0o

Dean graduates and moves into a three-bedroom house with a large backyard down the street from his parents. He gets two dogs, a mutt and a black lab.

Rory travels the world with her grandparents, finally accepting her aristocracy. Lorelai and Luke finally get off their asses and start dating.

Dean invites you to move in with him, citing plenty of room and independence from Luke, but tells you that you can't smoke anywhere on his property.

You'd been looking for a reason to quit anyway.

o0o

From there, it was inevitable. Perhaps, honestly, it always had been.

He's kind and funny and smart, but in different ways than you. He doesn't take your shit and he doesn't underestimate you.

So what if he's twelve feet tall and could break you in half without really trying? He won't, no matter **how** mad he gets. You can trust him.

You can trust him. Before Stars Hollow, you'd never been able to think that, much less say it.

But now you have him. Now you have Luke.

The knowledge feels good.

o0o

Lorelai and Luke get married in June, a bright summer-time wedding. Rory is her Maid of Honor and you're Luke's Best Man.

You finally call him "Uncle Luke" sometimes, and he always tells you to stop.

You almost can't remember when you didn't live in Stars Hollow, back in New York with Mom and her revolving boyfriends. You smile and clap Uncle Luke on the shoulder and kiss Lorelai's cheek. They both pull you into a hug and you realize, finally it **hits** you—you have a family.

Rory gives you a shy grin and you feel nothing.

You told her you'd never take her back.

Dean strides up and kisses Lorelai's forehead, also claps Uncle Luke on the back. "Congrats," he says and catches your eye.

You have a family. You have a home. You could never say that before.

You have a home and a family and a life to be proud of. You have a father in Luke, a confidant in Lorelai, and friends who will never betray you.

You have Dean, all you could ever have asker for but never dreamed you would get.

And to think—it's all because of the girl you both dated, once upon a time.

o0o

"You know, those things'll kill you," he says from a few feet away in the street. He's slouched, seems uncomfortable. The street light illuminates him but not you.

You smirk and drawl, "That's what they say," but your tone isn't mean, rather wary.

He gives you an almost-amused almost-smile and turns, apron in hand, strides away. You watch him go, and it doesn't feel like a beginning.

It never does.


	3. And Still You Trudge On

**Title**: And Still You Trudge On

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters. "Don't Laugh At Me" was written by Allen Shamblin & Steve Seskin, and recorded by Mark Wills. Just for fun.

**Warnings**: spoilers for up to "Run Away, Little Boy"

**Pairings**: implied Rory/Dean and Rory/Tristan and Dean/Tristan

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 405

**Point** of view: second

If you had known the way it'd end, you think you might have done something different.

Maybe.

Possibly.

Probably not.

You always were a stupid bastard.

o0o

You'd heard part of a song once. Only one line has stuck with you through the years—_Don't get your pleasure from my pain. _

It was one of those horrid country songs, so you'd quickly flipped the station. Sometimes, you wish you'd heard more. But never enough to hunt it down.

That lesson is one you didn't learn in time. Maybe you'd be happier if you had.

Playing with people's emotions had been a game. You only learned a few things from your father: when to stop talking, when to back down, and how to **really** make someone hurt.

You were the king of the school without trying; being the richest helped, but it was your attitude that did it.

You didn't care what people thought and they knew it; they followed you because you acted like you knew where you were going. You strode through the halls, secure in your power—

And then **she** came.

o0o

Almost immediately, you could see she didn't fit in, didn't know what to. You'd had a shitty life, so you decided it'd be fun to play with her.

And Paris. And everyone else.

And that set the tone for you relationship with Rory Gilmore.

If you had known—but you didn't.

And you can admit it wouldn't have changed anything, anyway.

o0o

You never loved her. You've never loved anyone, even yourself, truth be told. And sad as it is, it doesn't get you down. Love only slows people down.

Look at your mom. If she didn't love your dad, she'd be much better off.

Not that Rory is your dad. And you're not your mom.

Damn, you really have got to **stop** thinking about this.

o0o

You did a lot of stupid shit at Chilton. And you were too good to get caught until you wanted to be.

She **was** right about that. And damn, Dad was angry. That was the only good part about the whole thing.

o0o

You're not sure which one of them you were more jealous of. Which one the envy that curled through you was for.

o0o

Until her, people didn't stand up to you.

Until her boyfriend, people didn't threaten you.

Until that dance, you were the king.

If you could love, you think you might love him for it.


	4. Unfair As Life Can Be

**Title**: Unfair As Life Can Be

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: timeline--late season 2, early season 3

**Pairings**: Jess/Rory

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 385

**Point** **of** **view**: second

* * *

It was not fair to Dean. Watching them, you knew that. Rory slipped further and further away with every breath, enthralled by the danger and newness of Jess; Dean was stable and strong, sure as the sky and sea—you could see that he wasn't boring, but from where Rory stood, she couldn't.

Didn't really want to.

If you were even five years younger…

She led him on, afraid to let go; but, also, she courted Jess, gentle flirting disguised as discussion on books Dean had never read. Never wanted to read.

Not a fool by any means, but he still didn't love to read as much as Rory or, apparently, Jess. His interests lay elsewhere, in cars and technology.

_He built you a car, _you wanted to tell her. _A car. He loves you, steady as… all I've ever longed for. He's what I wanted but was too young to understand. _

Jess and Rory danced around each other, the whole town watching. Dean stood silently; if he acted, he'd look controlling, and if he didn't…

It wasn't fair to him, any of it. Sometimes, you looked at your daughter, your darling, your reason for existing for so long—and didn't recognize her, except as a memory.

_You're killing that boy, _you wanted to scream at Rory, shake her until she understood. _He's better than Jess—he won't tire of you, won't look elsewhere in the end. He'll stay with you, stand by you—and you're throwing him away. Ruining him. Don't you see? _

But Rory didn't see. She wanted Jess but she didn't want to let go of Dean. And you watched as slowly, Dean began to let go. Backed away, held onto his temper, allowed Rory all the space she needed.

It broke your heart when he asked you, _She likes Jess, doesn't she?_

You knew then. You knew he was done, even if he hadn't realized it yet.

It wasn't fair, any of it. You wished you could help her make the right choice, show her what a mistake it was… but you couldn't. You could just stand with her, come hell or high water, like Dean would, if given the chance. All you could do was support her and be ready to catch her when Jess let her fall.


	5. no one to tell us no

**Title**: No one to tell us no, or where to go, or say we're only dreamin'  
**Fandom**: "Gilmore Girls"/_Chronicles of Narnia_  
**Disclaimer:** only Rodney is mine; just for fun. Title from Aladdin.  
**Warnings**: takes place just after the Witch is defeated and pre-pilot  
**Pairings**: none  
**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 1350  
**Point of view**: third  
**Notes**: Written for the whattheficathon way back in August and forgotten.

* * *

When Lorelai was eleven, she went exploring in the attic, trying to hide from her mother. Emily Gilmore would never stoop to searching such a dusty, cluttered space, and the maids were much too busy to be bothered.

Lorelai spent hours up there, captivated by so many things she'd never seen before, old things that held secrets and memories of the Gilmore family going back generations.

Finally, it was time for supper; Lorelai didn't want to go down, but her stomach grumbled at her—she hadn't eaten since breakfast, and while her mind could keep running for days, her belly demanded sustenance.

She resolved to come back after the meal, but Mom locked her in her room, punishment for missing her dancing lesson with Monsieur Ducard.

o0o

It was another week till Lorelai could escape again, sneak up to the attic. She hid out in the far corner, wedged between a large wardrobe and the wall, head buried in her arms. Mom had taken away the riding lessons and Persnickety, her pony. Mom said the reason was because Lorelai kept disobeying her.

"I hate her, I hate her, _I hate her_!" Lorelai whispered. "I wish I could go away, far away, and never _ever_ come back."

"Lorelai Gilmore!" Mom's voice rang through the attic. "Come down here, right this minute, young lady!"

She didn't move, didn't breathe, and Mom stormed away, yelling over her shoulder, "Your father will deal with you when he gets home."

Lorelai crept from her hiding spot and stared at the door of the attic. She couldn't spend another second in this house, with Mom and the frightened servants, with the portraits that stared disapprovingly and the never-ending lessons about becoming of lady of society.

She was so tired, but couldn't leave the sanctuary of the attic. On her earlier exploration, she'd seen that coats were piled on the floor of the wardrobe, so she opened it and climbed in, going further and further, feeling for the back to rest against.

Finally, after what felt like hours of crawling, she fell onto dirt and pine needles, rolled over and stared at the sky.

o0o

Lorelai didn't mean to fall asleep, but she was exhausted.

When she woke, night had fallen. She got her feet, looking around. Really tall trees, squat little bushes, the clearest sky through the branches she'd ever seen.

After a moment, the shock turned to overwhelming excitement—she'd wanted away from Mom. Mom would never be able to find her here.  
Lorelai picked a direction and started walking.

o0o

She found a bush full of berries and wolfed them down, barely stopping to taste. A stream slaked her thirst and she came to the edge of the woods, watching the sun rise over the distant mountains.

Lorelai chose to continue on towards the mountains; it looked like some settlements were nestled at the foot. She pocketed more berries on her way, hoping they wouldn't get smushed, but knowing she was nowhere near that lucky.

A field separated the mountains from the forest and she looked around carefully before leaving the shelter of the trees. There were some deer at the far end, a few birds in the sky, but she couldn't see any predators. With a deep breath, she stepped into the tall grass.

She took her time moseying across the field, studying the landscape around her. It was beautiful, like something out of a movie. A cool breeze complemented the warmth of the sunlight on her nicely, and she twirled in place, hair flying. It was just too cool—away from Mom and her voice and her demands and her _Now, Lorelai! Act like a young lady_.

Lorelai laughed and shouted, "I'm never going home again!", startling some birds into flight.

o0o

By the end of the day, her tune had slightly changed. The mountains and settlement were no closer, but the forest was quickly receding. Her berries were gone, nothing around to replace them, and she'd lost sight of the river.

Lorelai bit her lip; for one panicked moment, she considered returning to the forest, looking for a way back home. She turned, staring at the way she's come, then looked forward at the mountains, at the buildings.

If this wasn't a dream—which she was leaning towards, now, that the shiny wonder had worn off—then the future could be very bleak. Maybe it would be better to go home, deal with Mom. Better Mom's shrill haranguing than starvation or dehydration or being picked off by a predator.

Plus, at the least the forest had those berries. The field was empty, all the way until the buildings. She hadn't even seen a rabbit or deer in hours, not that she'd be capable of hunting or killing one if she did.

By dusk, she had never been hungrier or thirstier. The forest was still far away, the mountains further, and she really wanted to be home.

And then it started to rain. Lorelai stopped, letting the water course down her face, along her neck, soaking her hair. It was perfect, just perfect—on top of everything else, now she'd be wet.

Lorelai sank to her knees, covering her face with her hands. "I want to go home," she whispered. "Time to wake up, now."

Nothing happened, of course. She wasn't dreaming.

o0o

Dawn came, sunlight shining down on Lorelai huddled in the middle of the field. She'd cried herself into exhausted sleep and dreamt desperate dreams. The ground was hard, except where the rain had turned it into mud—that part was sticky and cold. Lorelai had never been so miserable.

She rolled to her feet and looked to the left, towards the forest. Nothing had ever seemed so far away. To the right lay the mountains, with the little town at the foothills, even _further_ away.

It had been a dream, a fervent hope granted, and now it was a nightmare. Except worse than a nightmare, because she couldn't wake up.  
"Wake up," she whispered, pinching her arm and biting her lip. "Wake up."

Nothing. Again, nothing. She sobbed, doubling over and clutching her belly, which grumbled. She was hungry, so _hungry_.

"Hello?"

Lorelai whirled around at the voice, a young-sounding male. No one was there except a black horse.

"Are you lost, Daughter of Eve?" the same voice asked, and _the horse's lips moved_.

"Wh-what?" Lorelai backed up a step. "Did-did you just talk?"

The horse raised his head and snorted. "Of course I did."

She stared, mouth open. The horse flicked his ears and moseyed forward. "Well? Are you lost?"

Lorelai blinked, reassessing her decision that everything was a dream. "Yes," she said faintly. "I think I am."

"I am Rodney," the horse said. "If you do not serve the White Witch, I will take you wherever you intended to go."

"I've never heard of the White Witch," Lorelai told him, stretching out a hand to touch his neck. "I'm Lorelai Gilmore."

"Very well, Lorelai," Rodney said. "Hop on, then."

It must be a dream. The strangest, most vivid dream she'd ever had, but just a dream.

With talking horses.

Rodney knelt down on his front legs and Lorelai grabbed his mane, swinging herself onto his back.

"Where were you headed, Lorelai, before you got lost?" Rodney waited patiently as Lorelai settled herself, hands still tangled in his mane.

"I don't know," she answered. "I don't even know where I _am_."

Rodney twisted his head around to stare at her with one large, dark eye. "You're in _Narnia_!" he exclaimed, the last syllable vanishing into a neigh.

Lorelai shrugged. "Sorry," she said helplessly.

Rodney closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'll take you to Aslan," he decided, turning his head back around. "He'll know what to do."

"Okay," she said softly. "But on the way to Aslan, can we find some food?"

Rodney snorted, setting off towards the sun at a fairly pleasant trot. "I suppose we can stop by a family of Badgers I know. They should have food a Daughter of Eve might like."

"Badgers?" she asked, looking around with new eyes. "I think I'll like this dream."


	6. The Willow Is Weeping

Title: The Willow Is Weeping

Disclaimer: Not my characters. Just for fun.

Warnings: AU for "Gilmore Girls" after season 5; AU and spoilers for _Devour_

Pairings: Dean Forrester/Jake Gray

Rating: R

Wordcount: 2980

Point of view: third

* * *

Leaving Stars Hollow was the best thing he ever did. The only reason to stay would've been Clara, and she told him to go.

"You're not happy," she said, smiling up at him sadly. "Don't make yourself miserable for me."

So he left. Without looking back. Without word.

He traveled the country for a while, doing odd jobs when money got tight, which it often did. He wasn't happy, doubted he ever could be again. Finally, he wound up in Washington State, thousands of miles away from everything he'd ever known.

Breathing in air filled with the scent of the Pacific, Dean almost thinks he's happy.

o0o

At first, when he's just left, he calls Clara every day. Lets her know he's safe, where he is, where he thinks he might be going next.

Over the weeks, he calls less and less. And finally, he stops. He's left behind that life, those people—he isn't Dean Forrester anymore.

Two months after leaving, he hasn't talked to Clara in three weeks.

He finally feels like he's grown into himself, feels at home in his body. For years, he felt mismatched. Hated his height. But now he's comfortable. Now he knows how to move.

He doesn't eat every day, doesn't want to. Gas is more important, the insatiable need to keep moving. Whenever he fills up his car, he also buys two bottles of water. He drains them swiftly and refills them when he can. And when he does eat, he orders water to drink. It saves money and it's healthy; there really is no downside.

Dean picks up a random book here and there. Slowly, his collection builds, filling the backseat. Some of them are old, falling apart; some new, shiny and clean. He reads himself to sleep at night, sometimes in motels, other times in a sleeping bag beside his car.

Without being pressured into it by a girlfriend who will always think herself better, he's found, reading is fun.

He's so far removed from who he was, no one in Stars Hollow or Chicago would recognize him.

For some reason he can't quite fathom, that knowledge feels good. Probably better than it should.

o0o

A year and a half after leaving, he hits the Pacific Ocean. He's as far northwest as the continental US goes. He's not Dean Forrester; he can't even really remember that man.

He hasn't talked to his family in months. Hasn't seen anyone he knows in even longer.

Sometimes men try to pick fights. But Dean's learned how to use his height. For his size, he's quick, light on his feet. He can diffuse the situations most of the time. And when he can't, he wins.

The day he hits Washington, he's only killed once.

It was self defense, unavoidable. It was quick, painless. And he feels no guilt.

o0o

He hasn't picked up a single hitchhiker. Had actually planned on never picking up hitchhikers. He's heard the stories, of course. And he's not a fool.

But he sees the man trudging along the side of the road. Carrying a duffle in each hand and a booksack on his back. Faded, torn jeans, a white T-shirt, a jean jacket. He sees it all in a glance as he drives past and then he looks in the rearview mirror.

And he stops the car.

o0o

Looking back later, he wonders what possesses him. Why the hell he waits for the guy to catch up with him, throw his bags in the back, and slide shotgun.

The man smiles at him, thanks him. Dean nods.

He's never done anything so foolish.

"Jake," the guy says.

"Dean," he replies.

A part of him knows there is no going back. The rest of him hasn't realized it yet.

o0o

A ways down the road, Dean stops at a beat-up McDonald's. Jake leaves his stuff in the back and follows him in.

They order, each paying for their own, then sit together. They eat in silence for a while and finally Jake speaks.

"Where're you goin'?" he asks.

Dean shrugs. "Anywhere."

Jake nods. "Mind if I tag along? I can chip in for gas, buy my own meals."

Dean studies him for a moment, meets his eyes. They're hazel and huge, entreating him.

Dean half-smiles and nods.

o0o

It's a long time before they really talk beyond books and movies and sports. The road is less lonely with Jake; Dean feels like maybe he's found a friend at last.

They're the same age, seem to like a lot of the same things. But something about Jake makes him seem a lot older. He's weary.

When they finally talk about their pasts, it's eight months into their shared trip and Jake's just turned twenty-four.

o0o

"My real mom killed my adopted parents." Jake says it matter-of-factly out of the blue. Dean just looks at him, waiting. "She was crazy, thought she had to. She killed my best friends, too." Jake laughs. "Wanted me to join her, keep on killing." He meets Dean's eyes. "I killed her in self defense." Jake looks away. "They arrested me for her murders but let me go for lack of evidence."

Dean just nods.

o0o

"I killed a man in Wyoming," Dean says a few nights later. They're in a one-bed motel room. Jake has the bed and Dean takes the floor. "He started the fight. We were the two biggest guys in the bar and he was drunk." Dean laughs. "I haven't been drunk since the night before my wedding." He sits up and can see Jake's eyes reflecting light from the window. "We took it outside and he drew a knife." Dean shrugs. "I snapped his neck."

Jake just nods.

o0o

After their confessions, they talk a whole lot more. Jake tells Dean about computers and Dean shares his complete knowledge of cars. They debate philosophy and if chocolate chip cookies are better than Reese's. They reminisce about their childhoods, their experiences.

Dean tells about Rory and Lindsay and how he totally fucked up.

Jake tells about Connie and Dakota and how he never told Connie the way he really felt.

o0o

"Where are we going?" Jake asks a year after they meet.

They're in Florida and it's June.

"Where do you wanna go?" Dean asks in reply.

Jake shrugs. Dean smiles. The sun beams down and it feels inevitable. Dean reaches out and Jake moves to him. When their lips meet, Dean wonders what he'd been waiting for.

o0o

"Do you ever wonder what would have been different if Rory knew what she'd had?"

Dean looks over. Jake is staring out the window, face closed.

"I did," Dean answers. "But not anymore." Not for a long time.

"Do you wanna go back to Stars Hollow, see your sister?"

Dean reaches out and touches Jake's shoulder. "Wherever you wanna go, Jake. Anywhere."

Jake turns, eyes hazel and huge. "Let's just drive," he says.

Again, Dean wonders who Jake would have been if his mother hadn't fucked him up so well. Didn't haunt him. He raises his hand to Jake's face and Jake turns into the touch.

"Okay," Dean answers.

o0o

Dean never really felt happy with Rory, with Lindsay, in Chicago or Stars Hollow. Something was missing, off, his whole life—until he met Jake.

And it's funny, in an odd sort of way. Jake doesn't look like a dangerous guy. He's too clean cut, too pretty. But Dean saw him mad once, furious in a bar. Some idiot had said something—Dean didn't hear what—and Jake shut down, closed himself off.

Later, Dean would swear the temperature dropped about fifty degrees.

And then Jake moved. The only way to describe it was panther-like. Fluid and sudden, no way to tell where he'd go next. He tore into the guy and the bastard never had a chance.

If Jake wasn't pulled off, Dean knew the guy would die. But no one was going to try, Dean knew that, too.

So Dean lunged forward, grabbed for Jake, and at his touch, Jake stilled. Dean pulled him towards the door and everyone got out of their way.

Once at the car, Dean stopped, looked at Jake. He was normal again, still as a statue.

Dean didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

They never talked about it.

o0o

Dean had been so sure he'd loved Rory that it takes him by surprise.

He feels comfortable in Jake's presence. Safe. Like he can say whatever he wants, and Jake won't storm out, won't close off. Jake might not agree, but he'll listen.

And Jake can hear even what Dean doesn't say. If Dean's annoyed or hurt or angry, Jake knows. And he does his best to make Dean feel better.

Dean does the same for Jake.

The years of thinking he loved Rory fade more everyday. Getting Jake to laugh or smile makes a date with Rory pale in comparison.

But he never says the words. He doesn't need to. Jake knows.

o0o

Seven years after leaving Stars Hollow, Dean returns. Jake is with him, steady and sure.

Instead of going to his parents' house, Dean leads Jake to Luke's Diner. They sit by the window and give their orders to Candice. Dean asks if Luke is in and Candice says no.

Jake smiles at her and she blushes, stutters, laughs. He asks kindly for the latest gossip and she spills everything.

Luke had married Lorelai but now they're in the midst of a messy divorce. Rory gave birth to twins—the father is unknown, even now. Miss Patty and Taylor married in 2008; Kirk finally came out of the closet and admitted to a lifelong crush on Luke.

Dean nearly chokes on his laughter. Jake smiles again and kindly thanks Candice. She blushes even more and rushes away to place their orders.

"Well," Dean says. "Welcome to Stars Hollow."

Jake laughs softly and Dean grins.

o0o

After they finish their food and leave a nice tip for Candice, Dean takes Jake on a tour. He knows the grapevine will tell everyone he's back, so he'll meet with Miss Patty somewhere along the way.

By the time they hit the Dragonfly, Miss Patty is there. Dean opens the door for Jake, who raises an eyebrow and goes in; Dean chuckles before following.

Miss Patty approaches Dean and pulls him into a hug. "Deano, Deano, Deano," she chortles, "you look even better than when you left." When she releases him, her eyes go to Jake. "Oh, **my**, Dean," she breathes, "Who **is** your gorgeous companion?"

Jake blushes and Dean grins. "Miss Patty, meet Jake. Jake, this is Miss Patty."

Jake smiles and takes her hand, bowing. "It is a pleasure to meet a beauty such as yourself, Miss Patty."

Dean, watching, sees that Miss Patty falls in love with Jake then and there.

o0o

Looking back later, Dean can see the signs. They're obvious. But he can't hate himself for missing them.

He can't hate Jake, either.

o0o

Miss Patty invites them for dinner. Dean accepts.

Dean and Jake tell about their travels; Miss Patty and Taylor tell about the town, what's changed and stayed the same.

"I heard Lorelai and Luke married," Dean says, taking a bite of his spaghetti.

"Oh, yes," Miss Patty exhales. "The poor dears. They were better off before they wed."

"What went wrong?" Dean asks and Miss Patty shares a glance with Taylor.

"Luke wouldn't bend," Taylor tells him. "And Lorelai wouldn't budge."

Dean nods and the conversation continues.

o0o

They stay the night at Miss Patty's and the next day Dean takes Jake home.

His parents and sister hug him and cry. They greet Jake like another long-lost son. Dean is re-immersed into being Dean Forrester, someone he hasn't been in almost a decade. Jake nearly preens beneath the Forrester's attention. Dean watches with amusement; Jake has often reminded him of a cat, now moreso than ever.

They spend the day there, catching up. Dean hadn't missed them for a long time—not since he met Jake. He doesn't feel sad at the thought of leaving. As long as he has Jake, Dean knows he'll be fine.

He watches Jake and wonders if that's normal or healthy, decides it doesn't matter. It is what it is and they are who they are, and it's too late to change.

Not that he wants to.

o0o

It's a week before Dean runs into Rory. He remembers how he felt, remembers that she was everything, all he wanted or needed. She's beautiful, strong; a little boy walks on either side of her.

When she sees him, she freezes. "Dean," she whispers and her eyes widen.

"Hey, Rory," he says and leans down to kiss her cheek.

She looks down and he's reminded of when they first met, when they danced around each other. He notices she has the bracelet he gave her on her wrist and he smiles.

"Dean," she says again and he meets her eyes. "These are my sons, Alec and Ben."

They're identical with dark hair and large blue eyes, about four or five. He wants to ask who their father is, why he isn't helping her, but it's not his place.

They chat for a few minutes more then continue on their ways.

o0o

When he gets back to his parents' house, Jake meets him at the door.

"I'm sorry," he says, reaching out to grip Dean's arm.

Dean pauses, stares down into Jake's eyes. Before Jake says it, he knows.

"They were driving to Hartford for business," Jake explains, never releasing Dean. "Your dad lost control of the car. By the time the ambulance got there, they were dead."

Dean nods silently, unable to find the words. He can't look away from Jake.

"Clara," Jake continues, "She was in the back seat. She… she died on the way to the hospital and they couldn't resuscitate her."

Dean closes his eyes.

o0o

Dean's parents left everything to his aunt and Clara, but Clara died.

The town turns out for the funeral and the rest of his family comes in from Chicago. Dean doesn't talk to anyone, doesn't come out of the guest room. Jake hosts everything with Lorelai's help.

Two days after the funeral, Lindsay and her boyfriend die. A week after that, more people do.

Dean wonders if it has anything to do with him, but a part of him knows.

o0o

Two months after Dean returns to Stars Hollow, most everyone he knew has died.

The night after Babette and Morey meet their fate, Dean confronts Jake.

"What have you done?" Dean demands.

Jake only smiles and gently says, "You always knew."

Dean closes his eyes.

o0o

At dawn they leave.

Jake drives the car and Dean sits shotgun, staring out the window.

The news covers deaths across the nation, deaths with no rhyme or reason, deaths accidental and not. And once eyes turn from the US, it's happening all over the world.

"The hell is going on, Jake?" Dean's voice is soft, weary.

"Excellent word choice, Dean," he says and glances over. "My mother cannot be killed."

Dean laughs. Jake nods and continues, "Once I realized that, I also realized how foolish it is to stand against her." Dean turns to face him but Jake keeps talking. "It's a new world, Dean. I won't say better, because it's not. But my mother is taking the earth, one city at a time. If all the adults are killed, then the children are ripe for the picking."

Dean just stares at him and Jake's soft laughter fills the car.

"From the moment you picked me up, from the moment our eyes met, from the moment you agreed to journey with me, from the moment you kissed me, from the moment you fucked me—from the moment you snapped Bill Walter's neck in Wyoming, Dean, you knew."

Jake glances over and meets his eyes. "Deny it."

Dean looks away and stays silent.

o0o

"You lost yourself somewhere between Connecticut and Washington."

Dean lies on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Jake sits beside him, carding his fingers through Dean's hair.

"You don't mourn your parents. You don't mourn anyone from that town except Clara and even that grief is fleeting. A part of you even feels pleasure for some of the deaths."

Jake's tone dares Dean to deny it. Jake's hand is gentle, warm.

"How come you haven't killed me?" Dean asks, rolling over and grabbing Jake's hand.

"Because I don't want to."

Jake leans over and harshly kisses Dean, branding him with his lips.

o0o

Dean meets Marisol ten years after he left Stars Hollow for the first time.

She greets him with a bright smile and a tight hug. She greets Jake with a deep kiss on the lips.

Dean watches, jealous and angry.

After they separate, Jake pulls his head down and shows both his mother and his lover who is really his.

"You always knew," Jake whispers into his mouth and Dean can't find the words to deny it.

Marisol smiles.

o0o

Jake is a fair ruler where Marisol is tyrannical. Jake has compassion, Marisol only madness.

Dean never asks if God ever existed. If He had, He's long since died. Dean keeps all of his opinions to himself, all of his questions locked deep inside.

He should never have picked up that hitchhiker. But if he hadn't… would he be dead now?

Jake smiles as he enters their bedroom and stretches out beside Dean.

In spite of his fear and worry, Dean asks, "When?"

Jake presses a kiss to his neck and murmurs against his skin, "Soon."

o0o

Marisol dies on Dean's thirty-fourth birthday.

"My gift," Jake says, "is the world."

Dean meets his eyes and cannot bear to look away.


	7. the truth is out there

**Title**: the truth is out there

**Fandom**: "Supernatural"/"Gilmore Girls" crossover

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun.

**Warnings**: AU for "Supernatural" during season two

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 1040

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Dedication**: pheebs1 for her birthday

**Prompts**: Dean Forester's loyalty, Andy, Henriksen 

* * *

"Got a newbie for you, Vic," Andy Gallagher called, leading a tall kid into Henriksen's office. 

"I've told you not to call me that, Gallagher," Victor said without looking up.

"Trust me," Gallagher said, laughter in his voice. "You wanna meet this one."

Rolling his eyes, Victor raised his head.

He couldn't think of a thing to say except, "Holy fuck."

o0o

Victor couldn't stop staring at him. The new kid—Dean Forester—looked almost exactly like Sam fucking _Winchester_. Not quite as tall or broad, nowhere near as intimidating, but enough to pass for a twin.

Forester fidgeted under the scrutiny, keeping his gaze anywhere but on Victor. Gallagher didn't stop smirking.

"He gets to be our third wheel for awhile," Gallagher explained. "New to the field and all." 

Victor nodded. "Got a voice, kid?" he asked.

Forester flicked his gaze up. "Yes." He sounded petulant, like he didn't want to be there. 

Victor raised an eyebrow. Gallagher grinned.

o0o

Gallagher was the best partner Victor ever had. Victor never did quite figure out just how Gallagher joined the department, but it didn't seem like too big a deal.

Forester was alright; not the best agent, but not the worst Victor'd ever been partnered with. According to all the records, he wasn't related to the Winchesters.

That was the kind of coincidence that had Victor considering maybe Dean Winchester wasn't quite wrong about not killing all those women in St. Louis. He tried to steer clear of those kinds of thoughts whenever possible.

o0o

"So," Victor asked the second week, stuck in a boring-as-all-hell stake-out. "How'd you get into this job?"

Forester shrugged. "Construction didn't work out."

Victor considered that for a moment. Better than his own story, no doubt about it.

o0o

Driving back to the office in the morning, Victor asked, "So, who was it?"

"Who was who?" Forester asked in return. "Man, you don't make any sense."

Victor rolled his eyes. Boy was a smartass, of course. First Gallagher, now Forester—sometimes, Victor really missed Reid. "Who was it that chased you to the Bureau?" 

Forester paused, looking down at his hands. "A pretty girl with dark hair." 

Victor nods. "Me, too."

o0o

Forester was with them when the lucky break came and he freaked right out when face to face with the Winchesters.

Dean just stared, then chuckled.

Sam just stared.

o0o

The Winchesters broke out of custody within two days. Gallagher called in his vacation time. Forester was transferred to another division.

Victor puttered around the office, waiting for something to happen.

The phone rang. "Henriksen."

"Hey, Vic," Gallagher said. "Listen, you know how Dean Winchester is nucking futs?"

"Gallagher?" Victor glanced around the office. "Where you been?"

"Victor." Gallagher's voice was serious, echoey. "Dean Winchester is not insane. We need your help, you and Dean Forester."

o0o

Victor called Forester. The kid came running. 

o0o

Dean Winchester had almost been cut in half. Forester stared, fascinated. Sam's eyes tracked him, from where he sat on the bed, holding Dean, often going back to his brother.

"He needs a hospital!" Victor said. 

"No," Gallagher corrected. "He needs a fucking miracle."

Forester licked his lips, stepping closer. He looked so young, compared to Sam. 

Victor turned back to Gallagher. "Why are we here?"

"There's things, Vic," Gallagher told him. "Things out in the dark. They're evil and nasty, and exist only to cause good people pain." Gallagher's eyes were completely sincere. "Dean and Sam fight those things. Those things fight back."

Victor glanced over. Dean was pale, gray, barely breathing. Sam was desperate and angry, covered in his brother's blood. Forester was right beside the bed, fingers curled into loose fists.

"Did it hurt?" he whispered.

As far as Victor could tell, no one answered. Sam looked up at the kid with disbelieving eyes, but didn't say a thing. And Dean sure as hell wasn't coherent enough.

But Forester nodded. Reached forward, over Sam, lightly placed a hand on Dean's bare skin.

Sam snarled. Only word for it. Gallagher said softly, "Let him, Sam. Trust me."

Victor was completely lost, a feeling he truly despised. "Gallagher," he growled.

Gallagher didn't even spare him a glance, just kept watching the kid and the Winchesters. "Calm down, Vic," he said, voice going echoey again.

For some reason, Victor did, turning his gaze to the bed and the dying man on it.

Except, Dean looked better. His skin wasn't as pale, the horrific gash across his torso smaller, less bloody and gaping. "What the hell?" Victor whispered.

Sam's eyes were wide, going from his brother to his look alike and back.

"I am just that good," Gallagher said. 

"Andy…" Sam's voice was filled with wonder.

"Sam," Gallagher said. "Meet Dean Forester."

o0o

By sundown, Dean's stomach was no longer torn open. He hadn't woken up, but his breathing was easier, his skin regaining color and warmth. Sam kept smoothing his hair, murmuring, and Victor had to look away from the intimacy of it.

"Gallagher," he asked. "What the fuck is going on?"

Forester was curled up on the second bed, passed out. Victor'd had to help him the few feet to it, eased him down. 

"Some people, Vic," Gallagher told him, "have abilities. Telekinesis. Telepathy. Premonitions. Stuff like that." Gallagher didn't meet his eyes. 

"Abilities," Victor repeated. 

"Thank you," Sam said softly; they both looked over.

"I should arrest you," Victor stated. "Again." 

Sam calmly met his eyes. "You couldn't keep us."

Victor sighed. "I know."

o0o

By dawn, both Forester and Dean were up and about. Forester bounced back after the night's sleep, the eager newbie Fed. Dean was moving slower, carefully. His gaze kept shooting from Victor to Forester to Sam.

"Andy," he asked. "What's going on?"

"You live in a soap-opera, man," Gallagher answered.

That was another thing bugging Victor about the whole thing: his partner knew the fugitives, clearly.

"Gallagher," he said. "We need to get back to the office and do our best to forget this incident."

Gallagher shook his head. "Sorry, Vic. I retired."

Dean snickered and then hissed in pain.

o0o

Victor returned to Washington alone. He sat at his desk and tried to think of calm water, rainfall, anything calming.

Now he'd have to train up a new partner. 

Damn it.


	8. in Eden again

**Title**: in Eden again

**Disclaimer**: the ones you recognize aren't mine; title from Anne Sexton

**Warnings**: um… I pretty much know nothing past season five. Future!fic

**Pairings**: pre(post?) Dean/Rory, Lorelai/Luke

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 655

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: for pheebs1 in honor of her birthday

* * *

They meet again ten years later. Dean's graduated from college and is the foreman of a construction company; Rory's a mom and a freelance journalist. She's living off her grandfather's inheritance and her daughter's name is Evangeline Lorelai.

"Hey," Dean says. "How've you been?"

Rory smiles. "Wonderful," she answers. "This is Lena," she introduces the little girl peering around her legs. "Honey, say hi."

Dean crouches down. The girl blinks at him with large blue eyes. She has wavy dark hair and tanned skin. "I'm Dean Forrester," he tells her. "I knew your mom a long time ago."

Lena murmurs, "Hi, Mr. Forrester."

"Call me Dean," he says and stands.

Rory's grin is blinding. "We're about to get ice cream," she says. "Wanna come along?"

Dean smiles. "As long as Lena doesn't mind."

They both glance at her; she shakes her head and says softly, "He can come, Mama."

Dean meets Rory's eyes and it's like no time has passed at all.

o0o

"Mom," Rory says on the phone, "I met someone." She's curled up on the couch with brownie batter and Roscoe purring against her leg.

"Is he nice?" Mom asks. "Handsome? Witty?"

Rory grins and says, "You like him, Mom."

"And you know this even though I've never seen him before? Interesting."

Through the phone, Rory hears Luke grunt and Mom hiss, "Hold still!"

Snickering, Rory asks, "Are you tormenting your man again?"

"If he'd quit wiggling so much," Mom says, "the needle wouldn't poke him."

"I'm bleeding!" Luke yelps. "Damnit, Lorelai. I'm not a mannequin!"

Rory says, "I'll talk to you later, Mom."

"I'll call you after Luke's done being a baby. I wanna hear more about this guy I like. Kiss Lena for me."

"Lorelai!" Luke yells.

"Bye, kiddo, love you!" Mom says hurriedly and hangs up.

Rory chuckles and drops the phone on the coffee table. "That's a crazy lady," Rory tells Roscoe. She thinks back to Dean, running into him so randomly after so long—and he's still amazing. Tall and sweet and gentle. Still the boy who kissed her in Dosey's and still the man who left when she wasn't ready.

She licks the spoon clean of batter and places the bowl next to her cell. Roscoe meows and hops into her lap and she cuddles him to her, whispering into his fur, "We're both grown-ups now."

Rory stands, carrying Roscoe like the baby Lena used to be, and walks down the hall to check on her daughter.

o0o

Lena is not stupid. She knows that Grandpa Richie went away and that Grandma Em is always sad and that Grandma will give her chocolate no matter what and that Daddy will never come back because he wasn't ready.

So the big man with dimples, _Call me Dean_, Lena knows he'll be around a lot now. He brings Mama flowers and Roscoe catnip mice and Lena markers and notepads and sidewalk chalk. He draws with her while Mama writes and Roscoe bats a mouse around. Sometimes she and Mama doodle on the sidewalk, and sometimes Dean joins them.

"Dean," Mama says, "how does this sound?" and she rattles off a big long sentence that Lena can't follow even though she can read Goodnight, Moon to herself now. (She prefers Mama reading it, though, and Dean can read it good, too.)

Dean stands and walks over to Mama, looks over her shoulder. He murmurs something and Mama nods, says, "That makes sense." Dean drops a kiss on her head and comes back over, keeps drawing.

When he leaves for the night, though Lena knows he and Mama have been talking about him staying for longer, and maybe for good, Dean gives his picture to her, and smiles at Mama, and runs his fingers along Roscoe's spine.

"I like him," Lena tells Mama after Cinderella has saved the prince from the evil wizard.

"Me, too," Mama says and kisses her goodnight.


	9. smalltown feeling

**Title**: smalltown feeling

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: none

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 30

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Sam and Dean, Stars Hollow

* * *

Dean, of course, loves the place. Because of the pie, but still.

Sam keeps glancing around, sure that everyone is staring at him, and he has _no idea why_.


	10. last first kiss

**Title**: last first kiss

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: Dean/Rory

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 100

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Gilmore Girls, Dean/Rory, third time's a charm

* * *

He's taller and broader, and a little stand-offish, now. She deserves it, she knows, after... well, everything.

So she goes slow. Subtle. Just a smile, then a hello, then buying too much pie and handing some off to him. By his small grin—so tiny, so quick—she knows he's caught on, but he lets her pursue him, now.

When she asks him to Kirk's one-man-play, guaranteed to be horrible, he smiles and says he'd love to go.

She'll do right by him, this time. They're both grown-ups now. Both professionals and world-savvy, and they'll get their happily ever after.


	11. leave the fire ashes

**Title**: Leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Browning

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: past-Dean/Rory

**Rating**: PG  
**Wordcount**: 180

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: sunburn

* * *

Dean spent a month away from Stars Hollow after breaking up with Rory for the third—and final—time. He still loved her—had always loved her. But he was done. Couldn't take it anymore.

He'd stood in the sun and gotten burned. She was too brilliant, too beautiful for him. He'd known it for years. Known it and tried to deny it, but now… now he took a mental health month and returned determined to do his job and ignore the Gilmores.

Eventually people stopped looking at him. Luke stopped glaring at him. Dean and Rory quit being news.

A year later, Dean moved on from Stars Hollow. His parents wished him well and Clara cried, but Dean had been accepted into a pretty nice school and he wanted more than a small town had to give.

He wasn't as smart as Rory, he'd always known that. But he had potential of his own and he wanted to find his limits, so he could surpass them. Just to see.

Dean wanted a sun of his own, even if it burned.


End file.
